had never said never


said never

sometimes purple

in good times and bad

the silent ski excursions with his father

almost forbidding

that was then


not beginning, not finishing

the window facing the meadow

200,000 Krone

where Walter Benjamin had left off

fair-haired and fine-spun

brushed hair every evening

celebration no one wanted

all over the fog-bound apple orchard

moon pretty

kissing a little

driving away

not far from Brygge Road

but no

wandering from room to room

oh, not nothing

the pent up smell of perfume

like a little flute in the house

grass, bourbon, tar

always braided in one long plait

princess silent

like icicles

each one the one and only

and yet again

not a minute before

in an egg-stained dressing gown


the headlight beam sweeping across the countryside

covered by new fallen snow

the snow falling through the darkness

in italics

her fury

as mute as ever

a black patch in all the white

[The Cold Song by Linn Ullmann]